


It Is Ours To Carry Forward

by ladyarcherfan3



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 21:58:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11170893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyarcherfan3/pseuds/ladyarcherfan3
Summary: On the way to Crete, Lincoln worries about Michael and recalls a few childhood memories.





	It Is Ours To Carry Forward

Out in the middle of the sea in a smuggler’s boat, rushing towards Crete, with his brother hovering on the edge of consciousness, Lincoln forced himself to stay calm. Whip bobbed around, in and out of the small cabin, growling and grumbling under his breath like a frustrated terrier. Lincoln finally snapped at him to either find something to do or park it and shut up.

Whip started up about how he was nervous and why the hell wasn’t Lincoln, but a sharp look shut him up mid sentence and sent him outside.

Linc settled back to keep an eye on Michael; after asking for their ETA and the vomiting spell, he’d slipped into a fevered sleep, occasionally waking, but rarely lucid. Lincoln was nervous and worried, despite Whip’s complaints to the contrary. He felt a sick coldness spreading from his gut to the center of his bones. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt this way - God, how many times had Michael flirted with death and then just walked away? The little voice in the back of his head started chanting that Michael had pushed his luck for the last time. Even when they had been after Scylla, when Michael had been fighting a brain tumor, he hadn’t given up. He’d ignored the symptoms and pushed forward, and that had almost killed him, but that was something else entirely. Michael’s weak comment about not having twelve hours left chilled Lincoln to the bone. Michael was always the one with a plan, thinking twelve steps ahead, taking control of the situation. If he was giving up… maybe he really didn’t have twelve hours left.

He pushed the thought aside. A memory sprang into place instead.

Not long after their mother’s funeral, Michael had come down with the flu, compounded by stress and grief. The two of them were still together at their first foster home, with a pair of decent foster parents, but Lincoln had appointed himself Michael’s caretaker instantly. The foster parents had tried to shuffle him out of Michael’s room, but no argument or order could move him. He could get sick too - he was tough and could handle it. School? Who cared. Michael was sick and needed him. That was all that mattered.

If he stripped away the layers of real danger about Michael’s situation now, Lincoln could almost superimpose the memory onto the present. Michael curled up under a blanket, quiet but occasionally shivering with a fever and overall misery. There had been a pit in Lincoln’s gut then as there was now, the fear of losing his brother making him sick himself. Back then, he had known it was just a bug, but so soon after losing their mom and being tossed into the foster system, he hadn’t wanted to let Michael out of his sight. He knew his presence wouldn’t help Michael get better any faster, but it was the only thing he could do. So, he sat with Michael until the fever broke.

The fever and everything else had knocked Michael for a loop, though, and he’d needed help to even get out of bed. Lincoln had grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him upright, all while grumbling about how nasty Michael smelled. He shook his head and smirked as he thought of how, just a few hours ago, he had hauled Michael up into the boat in a similar fashion.

“Linc.”

He took a quick step across the cabin to Michael’s side. “Hey, man.” He lifted a water bottle and offered it to him. “You gotta stay hydrated.”

“It’ll just come back up again.”

“Try.”

Michael relented and took several slow sips. He grimaced, but the water stayed down. Satisfied, Lincoln put the bottle away and didn’t push it.

“Linc,” Michael said again. “If I don’t make it-”

“No. We’re not doing this,” Lincoln interrupted. “You’re going to make it, cuz Sara’s waiting for you on the other end to fix you up. And then we’re going to get out of this whole mess.” When Michael started to argue, he plunged on, “You have a wife and kid to get back to. And… dammit, Michael, I just got you back.”

Michael gave him a weak grin. “You make a compelling case.” His voice hitched on the last word and he sank back onto the bunk with an arm around his belly.

“Rest. But don’t think you’re giving up.”

Michael didn’t answer, his eyelids already slipping over his glassy gaze. Lincoln swallowed back a rush of bile, but went back to his perch where he could keep an eye on Michael and their progress across the water.

He had never been or wanted to be as smart as Michael. But, he was as equally as stubborn as his brother, and that was all he could offer at this point. The only thing he could do was wait, and in a few more hours, it would be down to Sara’s skills and Michael’s own will to live. And that would have to be enough.

Out in the middle of the sea, rushing towards Crete, Lincoln could only watch his brother sleep and pray to a god he didn’t even believe in that everything would work out.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Loreena McKennit's Beneath a Phrygian Sky. The song also subconsciously helped inspire the story.


End file.
